


Once upon a time

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [34]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Magic-Users, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:24:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: During the war between Muggles and Wizards, Bellamy finds a compound filled with prisoners.





	Once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of based on the photo-manip by @cupcakeblake on tumblr for day 6- AU.

_The story goes something like this: Once upon a time, there was a shy studious boy who loved his sister. He was the son of a powerful witch and an unsuspecting muggle who died overseas in the army before he was even born._

 

Bellamy creeps down the dark corridor, rifle in hand. The whole compound is riddled with magic-repellent symbols and he hates how they drain his strength and make the world sort of black-and-white.

 

The compound is hidden in a normal-looking village with quaint little houses built around a little church – Romanesque, XII century -. Bellamy has been sent on a recon mission and he has spent the day in their tiny inn, wandering around the marketplace, flirted with a young woman by the name of Gina. All the way feeling that creeping unease that comes with the proximity to magic-repellent sigils. And the low-key urge to document all the tiny historical details that make this the charming little village it appears to be.

He has found the entrance to the compound inside the little church, behind a sealed door leading down to the crypt.

 

_When the boy turned eleven this boy he was sent to study magic in a secret school for magical children._

_There he learned about the hatred and fear that plagued the magical community. He learned to keep his head down and study hard. He learned to fly and do magic with his new wand. He learned to speak up and defend what he believed in._

 

Bellamy has had to wait for backup to appear that night before he could investigate further. Thank god he did.

 

The stairs behind the door in the crypt seemed to lead to the underworld itself, descending slowly to the deepest circles of hell.

 

So far they’ve found eighteen people crammed into tiny iron cages, underfed, dehydrated and terrified. It doesn’t help that he and Lincoln have come armed with muggle weapons since their wands would probably backfire big time surrounded by the sigils.

 

None of the prisoners is the one he’s looking for. Then again, it never is.

 

“We need to go,” whispers Lincoln, a heavy hand on his shoulder.

 

“Go. Lead them out of here. I’ll check the rest of the compound. It can’t be that much bigger.”

 

Lincoln isn’t happy with leaving him behind, but he is a full-blooded wizard and the sigils are draining him quicker than they do Bellamy. Soon he will be pretty useless. So he leads the prisoners out while Bellamy marches through the door on the other side of the room.

 

 _When the young boy was thirteen he met this girl who was a pureblooded princess of the magical world. She was fierce and cunning and smart and hated and feared muggles as much as all the rest. They fought and tore each other down, fighting the grudging respect they felt for one another_.

 

He turns a corner into a new corridor with a single iron door at the end, a guard dozing off on a wooden chair. He jerks his head up when he notices Bellamy, but the half-blooded wizard shoots him before he has had time to fully wake up and warn his comrades.

 

Whatever they have on the other side it must be powerful or valuable – or both. He makes a perfunctory sweep of the rest of the corridor before hurrying to the door. The guard has the huge iron key on the key ring at his belt and, even though it burns to the touch he manages to open the door.

 

_When he was fifteen he kissed the princess. Hidden in a broom closet, with his heart beating hard against his ribs he felt the happiest man on earth. She smiled against his lips and pulled him in._

_She taught him rune magic, which is not as quick or powerful as wand-magic but ancient and less susceptible to magic blockers. He taught her about Internet and BIC pens and mobile phones._

 

 

Stepping into the room feels like plunging into murky waters. Before it felt like seeing the world in black-and-white, now he can’t breathe, he can’t properly see either. He blinks a few times and then just pulls his glasses from his pocket.

 

_When he was eighteen he graduated and signed up into a muggle university to learn history. He wanted to become a teacher. She wanted to be a doctor._

 

It doesn’t make everything better, but at least he can see more clearly. Which isn’t an improvement, like, at all.

 

_When he was twenty-one the magical community was discovered by the muggles. Panic spread like wildfire. The wizards and witches may have been more powerful, but they were less in numbers and muggles have always been inventive._

 

The room’s walls are covered floor to ceiling in iron anti-magic sigils, a huge wooden beam occupies the center of the room and twenty straw bales have been piled against the far wall, ready to turn the beam into a pyre.

 

Bellamy swallows.

 

_When he was twenty-three he witnessed the first public dismemberment. He had to hold his sister back and apparate them both back home. He didn’t have time to get to the bathroom before throwing up on the carpet._

_Two weeks his home was discovered and he and his love enlisted._

 

From where he’s standing he can see the hands tied to the beam by huge iron chains. He would recognize those hands anywhere, but he tramples on the hope that rises in his chest. He’s been let down too many times by now.

 

“Hope is a mistake,” Max used to say before the muggles captured him and tore him limb from limb.

 

He inches slower, aiming his rifle around the room to make sure it’s empty.

 

Bellamy turns to the woman tied to the beam and he nearly falls over his own feet in his haste to go to her: her hair is dirty, darker than the last time he saw her, her skin paler after being held underground for so long, big rings under her eyes and not a bit of makeup on her.

 

_When he was twenty- five his heart was ripped out of his chest._

 

Under his trembling fingers her skin is feverish, her blue eyes wide and terrified. She whispers his name trough the gag jammed into her mouth.

 

Bellamy would recognize her everywhere.

 

“I got you,” Bellamy manages to croak. His hands shake when he pulls the gag from her mouth. “I got you.”

 

She sobs, pulling ineffectively at the restraints around her wrist.

 

The anger in his belly coils into an ugly thing, seeing her tied up like this, weakened and humiliated. He walks around the beam and pulls out a piece of chalk, holding her wrists still until he can paint the breaking rune on the metal. It takes longer than a regular spell, filling the dungeon with the bittersweet smell of burnt ash and molten metal, but it serves its purpose, breaking her free.

 

She stumbles away, her knees weak and arms hanging limply at her sides after being held in the same position for so long. She flinches when he comes closer, but eventually lets him pull her up. When she hugs him, she does so clawing at his back pulling him closer, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

 

“Bellamy?” her voice is rough and hoarse with disuse.

 

“I’ve got you.” He has to pull away a little to look at her, make sure she’s real and not some figment of his imagination. “I’ve got you, Clarke.”

 

She sobs, or maybe she sighs and it is him who’s crying.

_Six years later his heart beats again._

 

“Let’s get home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always this was unbetad. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


End file.
